


Tales Don’t Tell Themselves

by wolfs



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e06 Rare Species, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 08:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22332934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfs/pseuds/wolfs
Summary: Jaskier goes missing on the way back from the Dragon Mountains.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Tales Don’t Tell Themselves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mk_tortie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mk_tortie/gifts).



> Thank you for your wonderful prompts, I hope you enjoy this, dear recip!
> 
> I'm using she/her pronouns for Roach as I believe she's referred to as a mare in the books (I'm aware Geralt goes through multiple horses and calls them all Roach, but still).

“Hm.”

Geralt’s nose twitched, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He wanted to second-guess himself; he wanted, for once in his life, to be wrong. Gently, he pulled on Roach’s reins, bringing the mare to a halt. He took a slow, steady breath and composed himself.

The truth, much like destiny, was always inescapable.

“The Bard must have got lost,” he said dryly, into the cold, fresh air.

Geralt had been in a rotten mood all day. This latest revelation did little to lift his spirits.

There was no trace of Jaskier’s scent along the trail leading back from the Dragon Mountains to Caingorn. The path still reeked of the dwarfs, who were jubilantly celebrating their acquisition of Dragon teeth the last time Geralt laid his eyes on them. He’d assumed Jaskier would tag along with them; had pictured him recounting their expedition with one of his far-fetched ballads in a nearby tavern, his purse brimming with coin and his belly full of ale.

It was not to be.

There was an increasing heaviness in the pit of Geralt’s stomach; a growing sense of dread. Another problem, when he least of all needed one.

Roach snorted loudly. Geralt pulled on the reins again, but she did not move.

“Not now, Roach.”

Roach neighed in response, her ears flicking back and forth.

Geralt sighed as he recalled the difficult circumstances in which he and Jaskier parted.

“It’s better for the Bard and I to sever all ties now, rather than later,” he said. “I cannot be his friend, nor his keeper.”

His mouth went dry. He had seen this plenty of times in humans – caring for people, forming attachments – it only made those involved weaker. Geralt couldn’t allow himself to be vulnerable.

And yet, here he was.

Roach snorted again, this time much more forcefully.

“The journey back is not a difficult one,” he said in a low voice, almost a growl. “Do not judge me so harshly.”

But images entered his head, brutal and haunting. Jaskier, lying in a ditch somewhere, bleeding and unconscious after taking a fall. Jaskier picking poisonous berries, eating them only to die a slow and painful death.

Expeditions such as this were not made for poets.

If Geralt hadn’t been a Witcher, he imagined his heart would have been racing. Instead, his chest ached dully as he thought about Jaskier being hurt or finding himself in trouble. He longed to push the sensation away, to quell it before it spread like wildfire.

Geralt had a duty; a personal code of conduct. He knew what he was about to do, even though he’d resolved not to get Jaskier involved in any of his future ventures.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

He turned Roach around, and she galloped eagerly back up the trail.

~

They found Jaskier in a clearing, several miles off course and headed in the wrong direction. He was stoking a dwindling fire, his face caked with dirt, his once pristine clothes in tatters. His deft, smooth fingers were covered in cuts and bruises. He had taken his boots off, and Geralt could see angry blisters on the soles of his feet. He didn’t look up or acknowledge Geralt’s arrival.

The silence was deafening.

“It is said humans have never discovered what lies beyond the Dragon Mountains,” Geralt declared with a grunt. “Do you intend to find the answer for yourself?”

Jaskier didn’t reply. It was a poor attempt at making small talk, Geralt conceded. Whatever lurked beyond these mountains, Geralt doubted Jaskier of all people wanted to see it.

Roach trotted towards Jaskier, nuzzling him with her nose. He leaned against her and patted her head tenderly. Geralt tried not to roll his eyes as Jaskier reached into his bag and offered Roach a carrot.

“You’re spoiling her.”

Jaskier glanced at him, then looked away.

Suddenly, Geralt longed for Jaskier to say something; to do something. To yell at him, to curse at him, to tell him what an idiot he’d been. He’d even be content to hear Jaskier tarnish his name in one of his awful songs. But for a man so gifted with words, Jaskier seemingly had none for him.

This was a first.

“By the gods, Jaskier,” Geralt groaned in annoyance. “Speak.”

“What is there to say?” He asked, still gently petting the horse.

“Hm.”

Jaskier sighed.

Geralt stared at him, his eyes like molten lava in the fading light.

Minutes passed. They felt like hours. Finally, Roach lay down to rest; it was as though even she had grown tired of the silent stand-off between Geralt and Jaskier. It’d been a long day, the longest of days, and they weren’t going to be able to head back to Caingorn until dawn.

Jaskier shivered and made a makeshift bed, groaning as he lay down on it. He was far too fond of the finer things in life, Geralt supposed.

“I have a spare fur if you want it.” Geralt offered, inclining his head.

“I’m quite alright.”

“You’re cold,” Geralt said, stepping closer.

“I’m fine. You have made it clear you do not need me, and so I must accept that I no longer need you.” Jaskier choked back what sounded like a sob, and Geralt closed his eyes, looking away.

“That’s not what I…” Geralt cleared his throat. “It was never my intention to hurt you.”

“Do not pity me, Geralt.” Jaskier fixed his eyes on him. “I know I have not always been an easy travelling companion. In the beginning, I may have latched onto you with less than sincere intentions.”

“Hm.”

“Let us be under no illusion – I needed coin. I _still_ need coin.” He sighed. “You are yet to make me as rich as I’d hoped. But I _have_ made you famous. You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

Geralt half-laughed, half-winced. This was an awkward conversation, but at least Jaskier was laying his cards on the table.

“It was wrong of me to ride your coattails, but oh, what an adventure it was. And once I saw beyond your boorish façade, you became a most treasured friend.”

A shiver ran down Geralt’s spine, but it wasn’t from the cold.

“Sleep now,” he said, still shaking. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“I am very, very tired,” Jaskier whispered, slowly closing his eyes.

“Well, then.”

“What if there are monsters, or worse still, more dragons?”

“There won’t be.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I will keep you safe, Jaskier.”

And he knew he would.

~

Geralt couldn’t settle.

He waited until Jaskier drifted off and draped the fur over his sleeping body. He paused to look at him for a while, and then sat, gazing wistfully at the fire.

Life wasn’t supposed to be like this. For years, he had existed in a blissful bubble of solitude, going largely unnoticed as he travelled from town to town and got on with his work. Everything was about to change now. Even things he’d far rather stayed the same.

In a moment of weakness, Geralt contemplated bolting. He could grab his things, pack them in his saddlebags, take Roach and run for the hills. Then there would be no child of surprise, no angry sorceresses, and no burgeoning friendship with a wilful Bard. It would be so easy to drift back into anonymity. The thought was fleeting, and he immediately chastised himself for having it.

Roach stood up and came to sit beside him. Geralt turned to look at her and laughed under his breath.

She knew too much. Roach was no ordinary animal. Perhaps she was when Geralt first acquired her – but now she’d spent far too much time around magic, and it was bound to have left its mark.

Geralt rested against her, and the two of them watched over Jaskier, who snored softly under his furs. The serenity of the moment felt oddly comforting – a stark contrast to the drama of the previous day.

“Good morning, one and all!” Jaskier rose to his feet and stretched.

“Hm.” Geralt stared at him from the corner of his eye, wondering how it was possible for one human being to have so much energy this early in the day.

“Did you sleep well?” Jaskier asked, fishing another carrot for Roach out of his bag. The mare eagerly took it from him.

Geralt sighed heavily, shaking his head.

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier said, stepping closer. “You need a good night’s slumber. And a bath. You definitely need a bath.” He screwed his nose up in disapproval.

Geralt’s lips curled into a wry smile, though he stopped short of laughter. He glanced around at the spectacular view from over the edge of the mountains, looking as picturesque as he’d ever seen in the morning sun. There was a nagging, floaty sensation in his stomach, and he couldn’t seem to make it go away.

“What’s wrong, friend?” Jaskier asked, looking into Geralt’s eyes.

Every muscle in Geralt’s body tightened. It was against his instinct to confide in anyone about anything, but the burdens placed upon him felt overwhelming, like they were suffocating him.

“Have I annoyed you?”

“No.” Geralt shook his head. “Not today, anyway.”

“Then speak plainly, I urge you,” Jaskier said, his voice steady. “You have saved my life so many times, and yet, you never let me do anything for you.”

“No one’s ever been able to help me; I’ve always faced everything alone.”

“Perhaps it’s time for that to change.” Jaskier’s tone was soft and mellow. “I cannot kill monsters, but I can offer you my counsel and my loyalty. You do not have to carry the entire weight of the continent alone.”

Geralt’s mouth hung open. Roach snorted beside him, and if he hadn’t known any better, he would’ve sworn she agreed with Jaskier.

“Fuck.” He spluttered out the expletive, then paused. “What am I to do now?” He asked.

“Go back to Cintra,” Jaskier replied. “Claim your child of surprise.”

“But what am I supposed to do with her?”

Jaskier laughed softly, resting his hand on Geralt’s arm. “You’ll figure that out between yourselves.”

“But how will I…?” He stammered. “I do not know how to take care of her.”

“You will be fine,” Jaskier said. “You have said it yourself; you cannot escape your destiny. But should you need any help, you can always call upon your faithful Bard.”

“Thank you, Jaskier.”

Geralt cautiously inched closer to him. He was painfully aware of the fact he was shaking. Jaskier linked their fingers together, and Geralt could feel the warm, lively energy flowing through Jaskier’s veins; the very essence of his being. He had never felt closer to him. It was Jaskier who led him towards his destiny, and he wondered, briefly, if their fates were also intertwined.

Roach snorted loudly, breaking his line of thought.

“It was the horse who wanted to search for you,” Geralt said dryly. “For what it’s worth.”

“Well,” Jaskier replied. “Roach has always been an impeccable judge of character.”


End file.
